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Tuesday, June 27, 2017

In a rural French village, a letter is
delivered decades late, inspiring a young woman to try to reunite two
star-crossed lovers . . .

Middle school teacher by day, romance
writer by night, and group knitter on Tuesday evenings, Flavie
Richalet leads a fairly uneventful life—until she receives a long
delayed letter meant for a total stranger. Postmarked 1971, the
yellowed envelope, addressed to an Amélie Lacombe, holds a fervent
message of love and a marriage proposal, signed only with the initial
E. Given her own fractured family history, Flavie is dreamily
determined to learn what became of the couple . . .

Flavie’s inquiries lead her to a
French seaside inn—and to E. himself, a true romantic who never
forgot the girl who got away so many years ago. But his protective
nephew, B&B owner Romaric, isn’t sure that trying to find
Amélie after all these years is good for his uncle. At odds with the
tall, dark, and impossibly passionate Romaric, Flavie must show him,
and perhaps herself, that true love is timeless—and always worth
waiting for . . .

her mind. She pictured his irresistible
smile, his gray-blue gaze, his

unruly hair, always too wild to lie
flat. She felt his rough hands on

her skin, his lips on hers, as though
it were only yesterday that they

had lain together on the beach.

She shook her head, willing herself to
dismiss the memory. It was

foolish to think of him, especially
right before her wedding. It had

been so long ago . . . four years,
almost to the day. He’d obviously

forgotten her, moved on with his life.
He’d never written to her,

never phoned her, never gotten in touch
with her. She’d waited

weeks, months even, for him to reach
out to her, before she’d accepted

the truth. It had only been a summer
fling. So she’d grieved,

but then looked to the future. She’d
thrown herself into her studies in

fashion-design school to forget. Forget
all about him.

And now she was finally happy. She’d
finished school and gotten

the job of her dreams with a small
fashion company that appreciated

her style and her slightly extravagant
ideas. It was almost more than

she’d ever expected. Moreover, she was
about to marry a wonderful

man, one who loved her more than anyone
and whom she loved very

much. She knew they’d have a great life
together.

So why? Why was she thinking of the
past, of a painful, bestforgotten

period of her life, on the day she was
going to marry Paul,

for better or for worse?

She took a deep breath, trying to calm
her heart, her nerves, her

mind. She patted her veil, smoothed a
few nonexistent creases in her

satin and lace wedding dress. She’d
designed it herself, and it was

stunning, even if she said so herself.
It was the dress of her dreams.

Again, Erwan appeared in her mind’s
eye.

“For God’s sake!” she swore, cutting
herself off immediately.

Someone knocked on the door and her
mother peered in. “Are

you ready, sweetheart?” Viviane Lacombe
asked, beaming.

Amélie cast a last glance into the
mirror, took a deep breath, and

nodded. “I am.”

It was no longer time to wonder about
the past.

So, she left her home, the home where
she grew up, and, lifting

the hem of her dress in one hand, her
father at her side, her mother in

front of her, beaming much more than
her daughter was, Amélie

slowly walked the short distance to the
beautiful church of Karouac,

where her parents had been married.
Paul was waiting for her there.

Her family was waiting for her. The
minister, and all their friends,

were gathered here today to celebrate
her wedding to the love of her

life. She couldn’t wait to go in and
marry Paul, the man who had always

been there for her. Who loved her more
than anything else. She

couldn’t wait to start her life. The
life she had chosen for herself.

Yet before she walked into the church,
she couldn’t help stopping

to gaze around, searching for a face, a
smile. She shook her head and

cursed the damn memories trying to
spoil the happiest day of her life.

She turned back and smiled at her
father, took hold of his proffered

arm, and waited for her cue.

Hidden in the shade of a porch, unseen,
Erwan watched as the

love of his life walked into the church
on her father’s arm to marry

another man.

He’d been too late, and he’d lost her
once again—forever.

2 • Chloé Duval

He tamped down the urge to enter the
church and beg Amélie, on

his knees if need be, to come with him,
repeating what he’d written

in that unanswered letter four years
ago, and walked away, his heart

breaking, leaving Karouac behind him.

Once again, and forever.

Stolen Time •

As a little girl, Chloé Duval dreamed
of knights slaying terrifying dragons and damsels in distress. Today,
she’s still seeking, in her stories, to find again the sweetness
and the enchantment of the fairy tales she absorbed as a child. A
Frenchwoman by birth, Canadian by adoption, and Québecoise in her
heart, Chloé lives in Montreal with her prince charming and dozens
of characters jostling around inside her head.